


and now goodbye is all we have

by finkzydrate



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkzydrate/pseuds/finkzydrate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-UCL loss.</p><p>Marco reaches out and squeezes Robert's shoulder, pats his neck in silent thanks for giving him the heads up, then blends in with the crowd in search of Mario. He thinks, fuck it, that might be the last time I’ll see him. He's feeling conflicted - bitter, lost, betrayed, but a part of him is aware that Mario is still his best friend and he cares a lot for him. It's probably the alcohol messing with his head and making him feel even worse than before, but it's too late to sober up now and in all honesty, Marco doesn't want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and now goodbye is all we have

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this fic months ago and it was supposed to be big and a lot different than what it turned into, lol, but i got this anon prompt on tumblr about that one little slap after the UCL loss and yeah, that's it, i finally wrote something. i'm a bit slow these days, sorry

They lose the Champions League like they lose Mario - unexpectedly, irreversibly and in the last possible minute. Marco thinks that this is the worst ending to a very, very disappointing season while kneeling on the pitch, forehead resting on the grass. Kloppo and Robert have to help him up, pulling him to his feet and when he finally opens his eyes after being on the ground for so long, his gaze is misty from the tears he doesn't want to let out, but is unable to keep in. Robert hugs him when he gets up, whispering comforting words in his ear. _You did your best, it's not your fault, you will kick their Bavarian ass in the Bundesliga next season, just wait and see. We'll be champions again._ Marco sighs and nods, moving closer in the embrace and holding on for a moment too long and then breaks away. The memory of him and Robert hugging and celebrating on a pitch just like that (well, it wasn't Wembley, but Bernabeu is a pretty big and important stadium, too) still fresh in his memory. Then he's alone, Robert is walking away and all he's left with is the taste of grass in his mouth and tears staining his cheeks.

He gets his medal, head hung low in defeat, just like his teammates. He thanks God silently when it's finally time to go to the dressing room, where he can hide for at least 30 minutes, no cameras in his face, no disappointed fans crying, no Bayern celebrating with that damn trophy that was rightfully theirs. He gets thirty minutes to grieve with his teammates, his family, the only people who understand what this defeat really felt like.

Nobody talks in there. Kloppo is making no speeches, there's no room for pep talks anymore. They did everything they could already and it wasn't even enough. Marco looks around - Nuri's silently crying and Felipe is hugging him, rubbing his back in reassurance. Mo and Leo are hanging by their lockers and it's the first time Marco has seen them just standing there, not laughing and joking, but wearing the most heart-wrenching facial expressions. He's suddenly overwhelmed with sadness again, it washes over him like a tidal wave, so strong and powerful, he feels like drowning in it. Marco stops looking; he knows he will find only disappointment and bitterness. He beats himself up for not playing well enough, not being fast enough, accurate enough. He knows it was a team effort, not just his, but still.

Marco swallows the bitterness and starts pulling his toiletries out of the locker to go take a shower and get out of Wembley as quickly as he possibly can.

On the way to the bus he gets cornered by a reporter and he doesn't really feel like talking, but he can't get out of the situation. He's concentrating on the gum in his mouth, chewing and chewing, his brain not quite working. After the reporter asks him if he can be comforted in any way after this loss, Marco lets out a bitter laugh and wonders if this guy is kidding. He says no and after that it's all a mist. When he starts walking again, he doesn't recall a word of what he has just said. He puts on his headphones and climbs the stairs of the bus, sits on his place, the seat next to him is empty and for the first time he's thankful that Mario's not there.

***

To say that the Champions League After party is painful would be the understatement of the year, Marco thinks while sipping his second whiskey. Next to him are Mo and Leo again, they are talking animatedly about something, but the music is too loud and Marco's not paying any attention to them. When he looks around, he can see most his teammates with their girlfriends, talking and smiling intimately. He's suddenly annoyed and on instinct looks to his left, ready to find Mario there and roll his eyes at him, pretend to gag and then laugh with him about it. Mario's not there, though, just Moritz. Marco swallows hard, remembers that Mario's somewhere with his own girlfriend and they haven't arrived yet and he feels bitter and alone all over again so, he quickly drowns the rest of his drink and makes his way to the bar, ordering another one.

He knows that in theory he shouldn't be drinking so much, but Marco reminds himself that he has every reason to be doing so. He takes off his blazer, holds it in one hand, his newly refilled glass in the other, ready to get up and get lost in the crowd of people, when Robert sits heavily on the stool next to him. 

"I've been looking for you," he states, simply.

"What for?" Marco asks, not really interested at the moment, but he likes Robert. He genuinely does and they're friends, but he can't be bothered with pretending to be okay at the moment. He can't put up a smile on his face for anyone.

"Just wanted to check in on you, no reason," he's looking at Marco, who's clutching hard at the glass in his hand, thoughtfully and Marco can see in his eyes that there's more to this, there's something that Robert's not telling him.

"I'm not as drunk as you think. Just tell me what it is, Lewandowski."

"Mario's here," Marco's eyes darken and his mouth goes dry. He knew Mario was bound to show up any moment now. Marco wants to go see him, but he’s too hurt, so he fights with himself for a few minutes. "He's brought that model girlfriend of his, what was her name again?" Robert frowns, trying to remember.

"Ann Kathrin," Marco tells him, standing up from the bar stool, leaving his glass behind. He reaches out and squeezes Robert's shoulder, pats his neck in silent thanks for giving him the heads up, then blends in with the crowd in search of Mario. He thinks, _fuck it, that might be the last time I’ll see him_. He's feeling conflicted - bitter, lost, betrayed, but a part of him is aware that Mario is still his best friend and he cares a lot for him. It's probably the alcohol messing with his head and making him feel even worse than before, but it's too late to sober up now and in all honesty, Marco doesn't want to. 

He spots Mario after just a couple of minutes, he’s talking to Nuri, his back turned to Marco so he doesn’t see the blond approaching them. 

"Hey, Mario," he tries, but it's not loud enough. The music and all the people talking and laughing and shouting over the noise to hear each other better drones it out. He tries again, tapping him on the shoulder and that makes Mario turn around. His expression is a bit annoyed, but then he realizes it's Marco that's trying to get his attention and his eyes light up a bit. "Marco, hi, I was just asking Nuri if he knew where you were," he puts his hand on Marco's elbow and squeezes gently. "How are you?"

Marco snorts. "I just lost the Champions League, can't you guess?"

"You didn't lose the final on your own, Marco, you lost it as a team. Don't put so much pressure on yourself," Mario tries to sound comforting, but Marco doesn't want to be comforted and especially not by Mario.

"Oh, please, you weren't even on the pitch. You weren't playing, you weren't wearing the jersey, so don't give me that bullshit. You started wearing a different crest a long time ago," Marco sneers, trying to make Mario understand how much he's hurting. Not just because of the lost trophy, but because of the lost best friend.

"You know what, you're drunk. I don't want to have this conversation with you right now, call me when you sober up," Mario frowns at him and then he turns his back on Marco, ready to leave. Marco stands there, numb for a moment and then the numbness turns to anger. 

Mario has turned his back on him once again, Marco feels betrayed, mad, abandoned all over again. He reaches out, slaps Mario's neck gently, just like he used to do before in trainings or when they were having friendly arguments, it was always a gesture that indicated how close they were and how comfortable around each other they felt and now, now it just feels wrong. Marco fears that he's overstepping some boundary, like he's intruding on Mario's personal space. And then Mario turns around and Marco doesn't even need to speak because his face says it all. The unspoken _don't you leave, don't turn your back on me again_ is clearly communicated, but Mario just shakes his head, looks at the ground and blends in with the crowd, disappearing quickly and leaving Marco to wonder if whatever relationship they had was all gone now.


End file.
